


This Was Worth an Overreaction

by Rotten (SocksandFluff)



Series: Apple Strudel of my Eye [3]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Fever, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Robbie, Oblivious Sportacus, Overprotective, Overprotective Sportacus, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic, sportarobbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocksandFluff/pseuds/Rotten
Summary: ... because Robbie is sick.  Very sick.   All he knows is that he needs help.  If there was any time for Sportacus to wrap him in over-protectiveness, it was now.  He desperately needed it.Sportacus doesn't disappoint.





	

It was late February, and winter was giving one last push as cold damp winds brushed through the large fields and surrounding forests of Lazytown.

Rain threatened and loomed at the horizon, but never got closer, and the air had just enough chill that scarves were still needed.

The kids were playing outside with Sportacus despite this, keeping warm with their activity and fun.

Robbie Rotten was down in his lair, shivering, his mind stuck in a thick haze.

The feeling had crept on him slowly.  Perhaps it had started nearly five days before when his last run of insomnia had started; or perhaps it was _because_ of his last run of insomnia in the first place.

All Robbie knew, was that he had fallen asleep _hard_ after four days and nights of having it avoid him, and when he awoke, he was groggy.

At first, all was well.  He might have been groggy, his limbs might have felt a bit heavy, and he might not have been able to shake away the tugging feeling of sleep at the back of his eyes, but he felt somewhat rested.

The day progressed - the groggy feeling never leaving him - and night came, and when he awoke in the morning, it all caved in on him.

His mind was a thick fog, his limbs like lead weights.  He was shaky, and he felt his head swim when he tried to sit up properly, like something was unbalanced at the very center of his skull, causing him to sway at the motion.

Robbie pressed his fingers to his temple, feeling a shudder run up from the base of his spine.

He felt hot and cold at the same time, and a sweaty sheen covering his body, making his dark blue bodysuit cling to him uncomfortably.

It was hard to think.

He took a shaky breath, his mind devoid of much thought at all - only focused on the fact that it was hard to _think_ , that it was _hot_ and it was _cold_ , and he ached and -

Another deep shiver ran up his spine, and he involuntarily groaned.

His hand shook for a moment as he grasped for his blanket, pulling it over his shoulders. 

His fingers felt weak.

Robbie couldn’t even question what was wrong, he just knew that he didn’t feel _right_.

He sat like that for what felt like ages.  A numb stillness settled over him as he blearily was trapped in the moment of indecision.

Robbie probably sat there for more than an hour, not moving much aside from the occasional hard blinking of his eyes, or when he pressed his knuckles into his eyes as he winced away sparks of vertigo.

Deep down he knew he ought to do something about it, but his brain was too foggy to think of _what_.

He had to...

.... had to ...

Something.

He had to do _something_.  Something was... something was wrong.

This was not something he could ignore. He couldn’t just turn over and go back to sleep.

If he could even do that.

Painfully, eventually, and with great effort; Robbie pushed himself out of his chair, blanket slipping off his shoulders.

It took effort - great effort - but he did so, feeling the chill of the room swarm him.

Robbie shook his head, balancing himself with his hand on his chair, before he mustered a great effort to get to the hatch of his home.

The world swirled and twisted with his attempt; but somehow - and he didn’t remember how he had done it - he made it outside.

He was _exhausted_.

A long drawn exhaustion that shook his core and pulled at his limbs, and buried deep into his core.  He rubbed his hand across his face, stumbling backward, trying to steady himself.

He whined, trying hard to clear his thoughts as he shuddered, breathing heavily, his heart thudding in his ears.

The back of his head met gently with the cool metal of of a support strut, he hadn’t remembered sitting down.  Or was he laying down?

He closed his eyes.

Robbie wanted - _needed_ \- someone to be there.

Something... just... wasn’t right.  Something was wrong.

Robbie lay there for what _felt_ like hours, eyes closed, scrunched, listening to the ringing in his ears, the thudding of his heart.  He was freezing and hot, wishing for his blanket and also wishing he wasn’t wearing such a tight vest; the heat was stifling, and the cold was biting.

He couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to take it off.

Robbie heard a sound - beeping - and it snapped in the back of his head causing him to pitch forward in a jerk of vertigo.

Something stopped him from falling to his side.

“Robbie?” a voice swam into his head.

Robbie opened his eyes, Sportacus was kneeling down before him.

It was surreal, really, looking at him.  Everything felt saturated and muted at the same time, and Sportacus himself didn’t look quite right.  The world was unfocused at best, and he felt like the ground was doing a slow ship-like roll.

“Hello,” was the hazy thing he said, not realizing he was pressing all of his weight into the hand that was holding him upright by the shoulder.

Sportacus frowned, and pressed a hand to the side of his face, cupping his cheek and sliding down to feel his neck.

The hand felt clammy.  Or was _he_ clammy?

“Fever,” Robbie eventually understood what Sportacus had said.

“Explains things...” Robbie eventually replied, closing his eyes again. “Do things look weird to you?  Thinks look weird to me...”  He made a weak gesture with his hand, “Everything is so... _soupy_.  Wait.  That’s not the right word...”

Sportacus didn’t move, or at least, Robbie was certain he didn’t, but he must have, because when Robbie opened his eyes again, he was leaning back against the metal support again and not forward into Sportacus’ hand.

Robbie sucked in a breath, turning his head to look for the man.

His vision swam as he watched Sportacus descend a ladder.

Robbie would remember later that the ladder was a completely normal feature of the airship, and not some strange fever-induced feat of the man to be climb down out of sheer nothingness.

His vision swirled, and Sportacus was in front of him again in what seemed to be the blink of an eye.

Something was pressed to his lips, and Robbie took the gesture to mean to drink.

It was cool and clean and a deep part of his brain wanted to recoil at it.

He didn’t.  Robbie sipped at what was offered, sighing at the simple comfort of it.  He didn’t even know his throat was so dry, or his lips were so chapped.

Later he’d balk that he was given water.

The bottle was taken away and he heard it being set down beside him.  Unbidden, his eyelids drooped slightly, and he felt hands that were both warm and cold gently rest on either side of his face.

He shivered.

“-obbie?  Robbie?” Sportacus’ voice cut through another thick ream of fog.

“I... I feel... really... _really_... not right,” Robbie felt himself say, his voice higher and more strained than he thought it ought to be.

He felt a thumb brush his cheek slightly, and Robbie shivered again.

“You’re _very_ feverish,” Sportacus said, his tone careful, but maybe worried?  It was hard to tell, it was hard for him to focus.

“I know,” Robbie said, his voice still a whine.

Sportacus hand brushed against Robbie’s forehead, pushing back the mess of non-gelled hair.

Robbie’s eyes were closed, so he couldn’t see Sportacus’ expression, he just leaned heavily into the hands like a life-line.

A small voice broke the silence and his stupor.  It jerked him back into reality and he sucked in a breath, eyes blinking open.

Again, he was no longer leaning into Sportacus, instead he was leaning back against the metal beam.  Only this time, he had something cushioning the back of his head.

Sportacus was standing off to one side, speaking to Stephanie, who was sending Robbie glances.

He hated this.

He hated how disjointed everything was.

Everything looked so strange, but he knew everything was the _same_ and nothing had changed.

Everything was happening, but in blips like someone had cut the film and pieced it back together with segments missing.

Robbie weakly raised his hand to rub at his eyes, bidding the twisting world to still for a moment.

When he uncovered his eyes again, Sportacus was kneeling down in front of him.

“- see if you can stand...?”

“I?  What?  Yes... I should?” Robbie replied confused and not confident.

He had managed to climb up here.  Somehow.

A hand took his, and Robbie gripped it back. He could hear a click of a tongue in response to that, and he was tugged gently to his feet.

He swayed violently, only vaguely aware that a smaller form had hands on his side.  That might have been the only reason why he didn’t pitch forward and crash into Sportacus.

His knees shook, nearly knocking together with the uncontrolled movement.

Was the ground getting closer?

Suddenly, he was in someone’s arms, steady and strong hands hooking under his knees and his shoulders.

He closed his eyes at the feeling, the movement making the world warp more than it already was.

Robbie felt one of those small steadying hands from before squeeze his own once he was situated into those strong arms.

“- the ship... I think it will be better that way.”  Robbie heard the voice from slightly above and behind him, and felt the rumble through the chest of the person carrying him.

He knew he was getting less and less aware of what was going on. 

They were moving.  Walking?

Must have been.

The movement was a careful and gentle sway.

The small hand was still holding his own.  Squeezing comfortingly.

Voices cut in and out.  “- wrong?” said the higher, younger, one.

“I don’t know,” worry was laced in the rumble of the reply.

The world swam in and out of coherence, Robbie’s mind slowly trickling down into complete unawareness.

“- obbie...?”

“- ie...?”

 

* * *

 

When he woke again, it was silent.

There were no sounds of the outdoors, or of general voices milling.  There were no sounds of humming electricity or the dripping of the pipes in his bunker.

It was silent.

Robbie opened his eyes experimentally, and blinked into a grey dimness.

He had no recollection of where he was or why he was there, just the vague memories from before, but nothing of between.

His body ached, and his breaths felt heavy.

Robbie shifted, turning onto his side, and met a pile of sheets.

Where was he?

He tried to sit up, but that effort alone was fruitless, his body refusing to listen to him, and the world only tipped when he tried to do so.

He collapsed back into the sheets, face partially muffled in the reams of fabric.

Robbie just lay there, breathing, trying to orient himself.  Though he felt marginally more coherent, his mind was still a thick haze.

He wasn’t sure if it was hours or minutes when he heard footsteps, but before he knew it, someone was kneeling down beside him.

“Robbie?” a gentle weight pressed into his back.  A hand?

Robbie shifted, moving his head so he could look at the person proper.

Sportacus was looking down at him.

“... Sporta... dork?”

Sportacus’ smile was a slight one, and he reached down to press the back of his hand to Robbie’s forehead.  The hero frowned, and he grabbed a bottle off of the floor.

“Drink something,” he offered, holding out the bottle.

Robbie weakly took it, Sportacus had to support his hand, and he took a few grateful sips before it was pulled away.

“Thanks...” Robbie breathed, and he nestled back into the sheets more.

He was certain he wasn’t on a bed - he seemed to be level with the floor - but he was also certain he wasn’t just laying on the floor either.

Wherever he _was_ in the first place.

“Can you answer some questions?” Sportacus asked after a moment of him fidgeting with the bottle in his hands.

“I’ll try,” Robbie said, aware his voice sounded so tired.  He _felt_ tired.

“Did you eat something strange?”

“I... don’t think so.”

“Have you had a cold recently?”

“No.”

“Have you gotten hurt in any way?  Injured?”

“I... no?  I don’t think so...”

Sportacus hummed in thought, and Robbie felt the man’s hand on his forehead again.

It was a comforting feeling, and Robbie’s eyes fluttered close at both the comfort, and the pulling tug of sleep.

“You have a high fever,” Sportacus stated simply.  Robbie could hear the worry.  “I don’t know why.”

“It can happen...? I guess...”

Robbie swallowed, his mind aching.

Fingers smoothed through his hair gently. “What can I do?” Sportacus asked.

“I dunno,” Robbie answered, after what he knew was too long of a pause.

“Robbie?”

Robbie hummed under his breath.

“... Robbie?”

The world tilted behind his eyelids.

“-bbi?”

 

* * *

 

Robbie woke in the same place, but it was _wholly different_.

This was not the gentle slow kind of wakening.  This was a jarring wake-up call where something grabbed and _pulled_ him out of the dazed stupor he was in.

Like something had hooked behind his navel and was attempting to thread him through a hole that was much too small.

He was gasping for breath and he didn’t know why.

His heart was ramming in his ears.

“Breathe.  Just _breathe_.”

What was happening?  What was going _on_?

 _Why was he so cold_?

And beeping.  There was this high-pitched frantic _beeping_.  It invaded every corner of his mind and pulled at his center of self.  So harshly that it felt like white flashes blinked across his vision despite his eyes being closed.

“Breathe slower Robbie!  It’s okay!  Come on...” the voice was panicking worse than the sound was. “Come on... _breathe slowly_.”

Hands were pressing down on his shoulders, and he felt what little heat he felt he had being sucked away from him.

He pressed against the hands, trying to move, but it was futile.  His body and the pressure was keeping him from doing so.

“Ng....d..”

“Breathe,” the voice tried to soothe, but it was not that comforting considering the frantic tone laced within it.

Robbie whined, a deep sound from the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he heard,   “I’m sorry but I _have_ to.”

Robbie didn’t know _what_ was going on.

His teeth clattered and his eyes clenched tighter.

“I’m sorry...”

And that wretched _beeping never stopped._

 

* * *

 

Robbie blinked, looking up at the dim ceiling above him.

He had so little memories of the past few hours - days?

Did he pass out?  Did he fall asleep again? Or did he just not remember in the deep hazy fog of fever?

One thing he noticed immediately upon waking up this time that he felt more... whole.  He felt more himself.

His thoughts might have strung together sluggishly, but they were clear and coherent thoughts. His mind didn’t feel like slipping away.  His heart wasn’t beating in his ears, and the shakiness, while present, felt more like that of exhaustion than anything else.

Robbie then noticed the feeling of a cool breeze against his chest, and the sweat that coated him, his hair clinging to his forehead.

Weakly, Robbie pushed himself up a little to observe himself.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt of any kind, but seemed to be in some sort of pajama bottoms.  Certainly not his own, they were some boring shade of grey, but they fit.

Robbie felt clammy and slightly cold, and shivered at the cool air.

Robbie grabbed for a blanket, and wrapped one around his shoulders.

He felt lighter.

He felt better.

A _lot_ better.

“Robbie!”

Robbie turned his head at the sound of rapid footsteps and a clatter, and he jerked back at the bright face of Sportacus suddenly so close to his own.

“Gah!” Robbie startled backwards.

A hand whipped to his forehead.

“It finally broke,” Sportacus breathed.

“What broke?”

“Your fever.  It finally broke.  Are you okay?  How do you feel?  Do you need something?  To drink?  To eat?  More blankets?  A shirt?”

Robbie scooted back away from the rapid gunshot speak of the hero, and raised an eyebrow. “Can you maybe speak more slowly?” he demanded first.  Then,  “What happened?”

Sportacus chuckled, and Robbie only noticed then how tired the sports-elf looked, and how disheveled he was.  He wasn’t even wearing that stupid hat of his, and instead his hair was resting around his face in a mop of golden curls.

“You were _very_ sick,” Sportacus eventually replied.

Robbie had guessed as much, he had hazy memories.  Indistinct and impressionistic, but he had the idea that he was.  “What happened?”

“My crystal suddenly beeped a few mornings ago,” Sportacus explained, gesturing to his chest. “You were laying out by your bunker.”

Robbie remembered that.

“You were very out of it.  You practically passed out in my arms.  Well, you pretty much _did_ ,” Sportacus said, his voice pitching slightly at the memory. “You had a fever of one-hundred and _three_ Robbie.”

Robbie stilled. “That high?”

Sportacus nodded. “It was between that and one-hundred and two for _four days_.”

Robbie blinked.  Something about Sportacus’ tone told him that it might have been higher than that...

“I had to take you to the hospital, do you remember that?”

_What?_

Robbie shook his head. “No... I... I just remember here,” Robbie said, stunned.

“You were really delirious at one point - your fever was spiking dangerously - I tried to cool you down,” Sportacus rung his hands. “But I couldn’t.  I wasn’t able to do it properly.  I had to - to - You needed more help.”

Robbie did not like the tone of Sportacus’ voice, and asked, “When was that?”

Sportacus swallowed. “The morning before yesterday.  Early.  You came back here last night.”

Robbie stared at him for a long moment.  He had _no_ recollection of that.  He remembered feeling that icy cold, like the heat had been sucked out of him, but...

Nothing else after.

“What time is it now?” Robbie asked, unable to see a window to gauge the time.

“Close to midnight.”

It was jarring to learn that so much time had passed but he had little to no recollection of _any of it;_ maybe hazy incoherent snippets, but those were few and far between.  He was missing _days_ worth of memories.  And just by Sportacus’ tone, he could take a guess that it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for the hero either.

Robbie must have been silent too long because the back of Sportacus’ hand pressed against his forehead.

“You’re feeling okay?” the hero asked again, his voice trying to hide heavy worry.

Robbie swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.  I... I feel a lot better.  Er - achy, sore... exhausted.  But not...” he wheeled a finger around his head in demonstration. “... Not like before?”

Sportacus’ smile was a relieved one. “Good.”

Robbie picked at the fabric that surrounded him.  It suddenly hit him. “Where am I?”

“The airship!” Sportacus chirped. “I turned down the lights - I thought it’d make it more comfortable. I landed it too.  We’re about two-hundred yards away from your bunker.”

A smart idea, having a feverish and delirious Robbie Rotten a couple-of-thousand of feet in the air was likely not the _best_ of ideas.

“I’m sorry I didn’t put you in a bed... I had to put you on the floor.  You have a mattress though.  My bed is just too small for you, and I felt that maybe if I sort of made a...” Sportacus ran a hand through his own hair again, “... nest for you?  I thought that would help.”

That explained the piles and piles of blankets he was surrounded in.  It was a veritable nest that he had been sleeping in.

“This is fine, Sportakook.”

Sportacus laughed, a tinkling relieved laugh.

Robbie picked at the fabric more. “... Thank you... by the way.”  He wheeled his hand. “For everything.  You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I d-”

“No!  You didn’t!” Robbie barked hoarsely.  “Sure, you had to save me and stuff but,” Robbie cleared his throat and wiggled his nose. He looked at anything but Sportacus, “But you didn’t just drop me off at the hospital and washed your hands of it...”

Sportacus gripped one of Robbie’s shoulders. “I’d _never_ do that.”

Robbie nodded.  Of course he _knew_ that.  Sportacus was the representation of all that was pure and good in the world.

He didn’t voice this, however.

A wave of shaky tiredness swam over him.

Right.  He was better - not cured.

“Lay down.”  It took no effort from Sportacus to guide him back down onto his side.

Blankets were piled and tucked around and over him.  Likely more so than before, what with his fever having broken.  Stifling him with blankets was no longer an issue.

The weight was comforting.

“Did the doctors say what was wrong with me?” Robbie asked.

Sportacus paused in his careful ministrations. “A virus, they think.  They couldn’t pinpoint a cause otherwise, and antibiotics weren’t working.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Robbie still _felt_ sorry.

“The kids made you cards,” Sportacus offered in lieu of fighting Robbie on it.  “All of them.  Even Stingy!  I didn’t have to fight him to get him to give you his card, he gave it up rather easily.”

Robbie smirked a little. “So Sticky isn’t as sticky as I thought.”

“And Stephanie lent you one of her bears,” Sportacus’ hand dove into the sheets to reveal a bright pink - of course - bear.  “She said it helps her feel better, so she lent it to you.”

That was... _terribly_ endearing.

Robbie resisted a sniff.

“They will be very happy to hear you’re doing so much better.”

“I’m sure.”

“They even promised to make you cake.”

Robbie chuckled under his breath. “Oh really?”

“Yes, and I am going to be helping them.”

Robbie blinked, and turned to look at Sportacus in stark shock.

Sportacus was smiling though.  A kind of smile that was wide and tired, but sparkled with true happiness and relief.  The kind that would make a person want to do a back-flip for.

Robbie’s face must have been a spectacle to behold because Sportacus started to snort...

... Then laugh.

“Why...” Robbie started hoarsely, scandalized, “why are you _laughing_!?”

“I’m sorry,” Sportacus tried to say between fits of laughter. “Y-your face!”

“What about _my face!?”_

“Just... your expression!”

“You said you were going to _make me cake_.”

“I am!” Sportacus laughed.

“You, the person who faints if he takes single bite of sugar.  You, the person you shakes your head whenever you see me eat anything non-sportscandy related.  You, the hero that _gave a child a toothbrush for his birthday_.”

“Yes,” Sportacus breathed, tempering his laughter. “Me, the person who was very _very_ worried for you, Robbie.  So worried that I promised myself that I would make you a cake a week for a _month_ if you got better.”

Robbie stilled.

Sportacus took up one of Robbie’s hands.  He held it, balled up between his own.  “I’m really happy you’re better, Robbie.”

Robbie swallowed.

Sportacus let go of his hand and tucked him back into the nest of blankets.

“Now get one-hundred percent better, Robbie, okay?  Then you can have cake.”

Robbie didn’t know what to say to the other, he whispered instead, “... One cake a _week?”_ Because of course he felt too cowardly to reference anything else that was said.

Sportacus pressed their foreheads together. “For a month,” he confirmed. “Now sleep.”

“I-... okay.”

Sportacus  held their foreheads together for a bit longer before he pulled away and stood up.

“Goodnight Robbie.”

Eventually, Robbie slept.

And Robbie stayed at Sportacus’ landed airship for a week before the hero deemed him well enough to go back home.

Not before he was bundled in blankets every day and fed and watered and kept remarkably well.

And yes.

Sportacus made him cake.

For  _two_ months.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic back after my creative slump. I decided to do what Sportacus would want me to do and take a break and not pressure myself into writing when I didn't feel I could. And man, did it ever pay off! I feel better than ever!
> 
> It was certainly interesting to write. I pulled from my own experiences with a fever, and I sort of wanted the challenge of keeping it in Robbie's limited narrative POV during the whole thing. It was lots of fun!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Robbie certainly will be enjoying all his cake.


End file.
